Carried by the noxious scent of unbridled wretchedness,
The thoughts of the masses corrode, upon impact, the ill-prepared,
Summoning the martyrdom of a thousand misguided sheep.

Inside that womb of madness, the absolutes rule,
And the governing law is Us vs Them.

Enlightenment unravels ... piece by ethereal piece,
And the true victims emerge as civility and patience.
In a moment of revelation, laws become clear,
As we meek and meager exchange freedom for protection.

A hive-mind of revolutionaries under the influence, perhaps.
And I can only wonder ...
Where is the queen amid these hapless drones?

Convoluted expressions before the witching hour,
The bewildered and forlorn search for answers.
Nevertheless, the final solution remains at a loss.

Amid the thinning of veils and an orchestra of misty hands,
True objectivity may be witnessed, if only for a moment.

And when questions still go unanswered ...
The bloodied and the broken find their relief
Under the darkened waves of an ethereal ocean.

Not all is lost ....

A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.

The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.

So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?

Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?

Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.

And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...

... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.

No one notices the sky's perpetual gray, until you are
          covered in ash and gunpowder.

Light is not welcome here, and yet the flames of
          burning cities blaze a welcoming path.

Shallow graves and even
          shallower hearts. . . .

You were only seventeen
          when your role in this battle began.